…about any of the tailorbird clan. This was the last we saw of chick No.2 on Saturday.

In other news, the bulbuls are back nesting in the hanging orchids…

It was raining this morning. And windy. Outside out bedroom window I could hear the baby bird yelling to be fed, non stop. After breakfast (mine) I realised it was still yelling, non-stop. I peeked into the nest from the bedroom. Empty. Just 7 full days after hatching and the parents chose an awful day to entice them out of the nest.

But something was definitely wrong. I went outside. In the street I could hear one baby bird calling and the parents. But the other was still under our window. After much, much searching, I finally found it under the grille of the drain, sitting miserably and very vocally in the water. It was mightily happy to be rescued and sat shivering in my (muddy)hand. I cupped my other hand over the top until it had warmed up, then my husband took this photo, and I placed it high on the pot-plants on our front veranda. One of the parents soon found it and it has been vocally demanding food all morning (and getting it from mum) while dad manages the other youngster further away.

You may remember the tailorbirds that built a nest under our bedroom window at home. Well they decided to do it again. Last time they didn’t quite make it — the nest fell out of the leaves, perhaps because a cat clawed it. Well, they are trying again.

Photo below taken with flash. Two young, now 6 days old. When I first saw them they were nearly hatched and barely the size of the nail on my little finger.  If you look carefully, you’ll see that one of the leaves used has already died — and I have stuck it to the main stalk with sticky tape in the hope that it will hold up.

Good birding trips have very early starts. Geez, the sun gets up early in Qld…And include different habitats…

Including some that look familiar in this case. This photo could so have been taken in Malaysia…

It was great to be in a place where the infrastructure is well looked after. We visited Mary Cairncross Scenic Reserve, and several parts of Brisbane Park, plus odd stops to look at roadside ponds and fields etc around Nambour where we stayed the night.

And there’s always someone who is looking the other way when a good bird drops by…

Above: Grandson in front of the wild hornbill feeding station at the hotel.

The Oriental Pied Hornbill at the feeding station. That pile of horrible white stuff? It’s white bread, possibly about the worst thing you could feed a hornbill. The other orange stuff is papaya. In the wild they are omnivorous – eating fruit, young birds, lizards, insects, etc. But not bread loaded with sugar and white flour. There were easily about 40 birds flying around at feeding time, just feet away from the guests.

Some of the hotel chalets. (Pangkor Island Beach Resort – great place. We stayed in the cheapest rooms, which was a great choice as they were also the quietest, being the furthest away from the swimming pool and night life.)

Had a lovely evening last night with family – drank far too much wine, laughed a great deal, talked and listened and basked in that feeling you get only with special people. Something I miss too often, living in another country.

Margaret and I went birdwatching this morning at Bibra Lake.

A sad sight. People over the years have sunk bores to obtain water for their gardens without any thought for the state of Perth’s wetlands. Some of the urban wetlands remain dry even during the winter rains. There can be no sorrier sight than what we saw today – a long-necked tortoise trudging its way through the mud of the lake to, I would think, certain death (see pix No.3)

Enjoy those silly green lawns, unused, and think of the price that was paid for them.

Some of the Banksias – one of my favourite flowers – were out in bloom.

The birding was good – everything from Splendid Wrens to raptors.

And these plants in the last pix have always to be been a symbol of Australia and home. We used to call them Black Boys (they tend to have a black “trunk”) and never gave a thought to any racial slur. Now political correctness tells us we were in fact denigrating a whole people.

That was news to me, actually. All it ever was, as far as we were concerned, was the name of a plant, as neutral as white-ants, the White-faced Heron and the white cliffs of Dover.

Ok, so here are some Xanthorrhoea, or grass trees.